One more tomorrow
by Download077
Summary: When the world needs help, it calls upon those capable of answering. Some would label these archetypes Heroes. Saviors. Angels. You're not one of those kinda people. That's why you're in Hell! And today? You just wanna enjoy your cigarette. Unfortunately, that ain't gonna pass. Why? Because the last thing you expected to happen today was a run in with the damn Radio Demon. NSFW.


˜"*°•.𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌.•°*"˜

ℍ𝕒𝕫𝕓𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕝

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Relationship tags - Alastor / OC Reader.

Characters - Alastor & OC Reader.

Tags - Smut, Fluff, Romance, Crude language, Smoking, Headcanon influenced, Reader belongs in Hell, Playful banter, Music, Self indulgent.

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NSFW One shot

* * *

Shit doesn't get fixed after the purge. Not in this part of Hell, at least. Kinda adds to the appeal of the slums. Hah! Who the fuck knew Hell would have slums? Ah, oh well. Home sweet home, right?

You smash your cigarette against the bottom of your sneaker before flicking the bud away. Kretek cloves, because they taste fuckin' great. Tendrils of thin smoke leave your nose as you sigh. Good shit. Melts on your tongue like a shot of spiced whiskey.

Neon signs barely hanging by their cables flicker atop every crumbling, burning, ashen building. Sex! Drugs! Sex and Drugs! There's trash fuckin'_ everywhere. _Thunder absent of rain, because it sure as shit ain't gonna rain in Hell, rumbles across the sky. No sun. Just the same twisting and turning pentagram that rests at the center of the sky, you know, the same one that dropped you here all those years ago.

Fuckin' bullshit.

It was just a hit and run. Okay, maybe it was more of a kill a family of four type of situation, but come on! It's not like you diddled some kid or were some kinda serial killer. Heh, that's the kinda shit you do here in Hell without consequence.

With a snap of your fingers, you light up another cigarette as you make your way down the street. Inhale, exhale, step over the pot holes, snicker at the homeless because they're too goddamned stupid to do anything other than be homeless. For fucks sake, this ain't America anymore. Go get a fuckin' job. There's always something to do in Hell.

"Why, is that a Kretek cigarette? Haha! I haven't had that scent grace my soul since nineteen twenty five!" With the shattering of glass striking the air, a mirrored portal swirls into view upon the haphazard brick building to your left. Fuck, just when you think you've seen it all...Dripping from the gateway with entirely too much self importance steps out a slim demon dressed in red.

"Fuck off, would ya?" Ugh. Propaganda demons. You can tell from the way his voice scrapes in your ear like a newscaster broadcasting through one of those ancient fabric clad radios. Annoying.

"Now now, darling. Just because we are in Hell does not mean we have to forfeit our manners," Dude! Ugh, rolling your cigarette around your mouth, you glance over your shoulder and throw the fucker a sneer. "My dear! I asked you a question and I would appreciate an answer."

Wait a second. Hold the fucking phone. Is..that?

Your stomach drops. A smile carves itself across the demons face. Not just any demon. Mother fucker. It's the goddamn Radio Demon.

What in the flying fuck is he doing here?

You think the tobacco meant to blacken your lungs has instead settled in as tension in your shoulders. "Yeah. Yeah, they're clove. What's it to ya?"

"You have good taste! Tell me, where did you happen upon such a treat?" The Radio Demon folds his hands behind his back. With a _pop! _the portal behind him vanishes.

"There's a vending machine down Parkway. If you kick the left side hard enough it'll spit the goods out for free," You exhale a ring of smoke. "Quid pro quo, what's a socialite like you doing in the slums?"

The Radio Demon chuckles. "Oh, how I do love deals. Fair enough! What you have there was an indulgence my Mother partook of when I was but a strapping young boy! Consequently, my dear, I believe that I could pick up on the Eugenol of a Kretek cigarette if an angel were smoking one in Heaven."

Heh. A smirk tugs at your lips. "You ever smoked?"

"Care to be my introduction?" He adjusts his monocle before flashing you another toothy smile. "I would hate to come all this way empty handed."

You want to tell him to fuck off. Fuck off and go and kick the vending machine like you did until it pukes out a carton. Instead, you slip him a cigarette. "Wouldja look at me. Corrupting Hell's finest with a damn cigarette."

"Hell's finest? My dear, your sense of humor is truly worthy of Broadway," The Radio Demon gives you an expectant look as he waves the cigarette up and down.

You flick a thumb against your pointer finger. As a lavender flame curls around your thumb, you deadpan, "Name first. Real one."

Yellow teeth split the demon's face in half as static grates his tone. "They call me Alastor. And yours?"

"I don't give out my name unless we're fuckin'," You scoff. "And I ain't cheap."

"No. No, I would imagine not," Another expectant look. His eyes brighten. "Come now, we had a deal."

Fuck it. Lucky he's kinda cute. Annnd one of the most powerful demons in Hell. Mostly cute, though. With a shrug of your shoulder, you light his cigarette. "Fine. Fair is fair."

Alastor hums with approval. The feedback he emits vibrates with a coarse white noise as he brings the cigarette to his lips. After a few puffs, he breathes, "Well! That is rather nice. Certainly, I can see why my Mother fancied these the way she did. Haha! Thank you for taking me back in time, my dear. You have my gratitude."

"Whatever. You're welcome," Okay, you have better things to do. Like sleep. Maybe a novacaine holiday, even. "We done here?"

"Not quite. It seems that I've grown a fondness for this cancerous luxury and cannot seem to bear the thought of not having another!" Alastor leans on an invisible pedestal with a grin. "Care to show me this mystical vending machine of yours?"

"I said it's on Parkway."

"And I heard you!" Alastor steps forward. Spreading his arms wide, he lets out a laugh that crackles like gravel in a blender, "The show must go on! Come with me, and you'll be, in a worrrld of pure devastation.~"

You can't believe you're doing this. He's putting an arm around you, marching forward, spinning his hand around before him until a red open microphone snaps into his grasp from thin air. Meanwhile, you just let it happen. Something in the back of your mind tells you that you don't...you don't exactly have a choice in the matter.

* * *

Rats race along the broken streets. Cockroaches nibble at aluminum trash cans spilling with filth and shit. This place smells like the rotting corpse of a bloated diabetic. Sour meat. Pungent. But hey, it's home! Oh well. At least Alastor smells nice. Really fuckin' nice. Like champagne bubbles at midnight and all things red velvet.

"Here we are," You gesture towards the vending machine flickering down the alleyway. "There's the 'mystical vending machine'. Careful, I heard that if you kick it hard enough Satan himself might come tumbling out."

"Charming," Alastor gives you a nudge and a grin. "Go on. Give it a swift kick!"

"Fuck off. I brought you here, you can get your shit yourself." Fucker. You're not a wage slave. Not anymore.

Alastor radiates with a screeching feedback as he laughs, "Such a passionate reaction to a simple request! Perhaps you were an actress during your time upstairs?"

"I worked at a department store."

Another laugh. "Same thing! Oh, the masks we wear among the living," With a swing of his head that brings him entirely too close to your face, his lips peel back with a smile as he whispers, "And the dead."

Your face falls flat. "You gonna get your shit, or what?"

His smile only serves to carve his mouth wider, splitting him open from ear to ear as he answers, "Yes. Yes, I am."

Alastor snaps his body back like a cobra getting ready to strike. Pursing his lips, he hums as he gives his open mic a few taps to the left side of the vending machine. With a groan and beep, the vending machine spits out a carton of Kretek cigarettes.

"T̶h̷A̸n̶K̶ ̶y̷O̶u̴ ̸F̴o̴R̴ ̷y̶O̵u̵R̶ ̸p̶U̷r̶C̴h̵A̵s̴E̶." The vending machine shrieks.

"You are quite welcome, my good fellow!" Alastor exclaims. Instead of bending down to retrieve the carton, a shadow darts out from beneath his feet and snatches it up. Leaning his body against an invisible column, Alastor twirls his hand, thick red smoke flowing from his fingertips as he summons a cigarette.

"Nice trick," You smirk. With a mash of your cigarette against the bottom of your sneaker, you add, "Need a light?"

"Not this time deary," Striking his thumb against his opposite wrist like a matchstick, the sulfurous scent of smoke from the ignition of a dark flame taking the air tickles your nose as he chuckles, "Allow me."

Cheeky bastard. A smug grin fights itself onto your lips as you fish out another cigarette and swipe it through the fire cavorting around his hand. "Thanks, I guess."

"But of course! I never fail to pay back my debts," As Alastor dips his head forward, igniting the cigarette resting upon his lips, thousands of beady eyes blink at you from the shadow he casts that consumes the face of the building to his back.

You sigh a ring of smoke. Yep. That's enough crazy for today. Time to get the fuck outta here.

"Enlighten me, darling. What happen to be your rates?" Alastor breathes, voice almost absent of static.

…Wait a sec.

No way. Holy fucking shit! You bark a laugh. "Why do you give a shit?"

"Why does anyone?!" Alastor cackles. "Entertainment, my dear. It can become quite hard to come by when you reach my age."

"Just didn't catch you as the type, is all."

"Oh? Well then! Perhaps you have seen through my aristocratic facade! Very clever, very clever indeed. Why would the Radio demon pay for a back alley whore, after all?" You sneer as Alastor drones on his cigarette. "Let me tell you why. Truth be told, I have an appetite for fallen angels."

"I'm not exactly a fallen angel if you can't already tell."

Alastor's eyes flash, air bending in a static distortion around his frame as he purrs, "Not until I've had my way with you."

Oh. You like this demon.

"Dinner. One of the nice places on Riverside avenue," You aim your cigarette at a cockroach. _Flick! _You miss. Damn. "You pick. We can talk cash after that."

Alastor steps forward. His toothy smile is growing on you. "Do we have a deal, then?"

Before you can answer, Alastor snaps his fingers. A smirk steals your face as your clothes transform from the shit you picked off of some dead fuck a few days ago and into a lacy black dress and heels. The floppy hat is a nice touch, as well.

"You'd better have a big cock." You take the arm offered to you.

"Ha! Now now, darling. Dinner before dessert."

* * *

Well. This place is ritzy.

Slow jazz played by a six armed demon with a saxophone sighs through the restaurant. Oil lanterns flickering atop each round table skirted with a satin sheet decorate the room. Karaoke, but no one's singing this late in the evening. Ambient low lights that keep the restaurant a hair above dark droop from the ceiling. Cajun spices bite the air as they sting your nose from the strength of their kick. Crisp red wine that sweats in it's bottle as it leans perched in a bucket of ice catches your eye.

Sure, Hell is a lawless shit hole. However, self indulgence certainly has its place among demons. Most likely, it's what landed half the fucks in Hell here in the first place.

The slice of cheesecake before you glistens with dribbling raspberry syrup. Avoiding the crust, you portion off a bite while you ask, "So, how old are you?"

Alastor buzzes with a chuckle. "When you reach my age time begins to have little relevance. However, I might as well satiate your curiosity with a fun little tattle! Hell and I go way back, darling. You could almost say that we are nearly synonymous."

"That bad, huh?" A laugh catches in your throat. "You ever get bored of it all?"

"Why, yes! Yes, I do! Ohhhh my dear, how the centuries pass like a terrible picture show aching for a curtain call. And yet, is that not why we are here tonight? To usurp the monotony that plagues us all down here in Hell?"

You shrug a shoulder. He has a good point. This sure as shit beats gettin' high off your ass and staring at the wall. "Yeah. Suppose so. That's a nice way of putting it," You tease your fork along your plate. "You do this often?"

Folding one leg over the other, Alastor steeples his fingers as he leans forward. "Truthfully? No. However," Alastor's brows lift with his grin. "I am positively a fool for spontaneity."

Chills shower your body as a shadow glides around your ankle. Stealing a peek down, you shudder as the darkness climbing up your leg begins to massage your skin. Alastor chuckles. "Something the matter, my dear?"

Mmm. This is going to be a bit more fun than you anticipated. With a spread of your legs the shadow slips higher, inky tendrils caressing your thighs, flicking dangerously close to the lingerie you don't have on as you muse, "Wanna take this elsewhere?"

Alastor is all teeth as his ears twitch. "Such a lovely view that you have there. Accordingly, I have always enjoyed partaking of a show that's straight and to the point."

* * *

Alastor likes red. Scratch that. You think the dude's obsessed with the color. Oh well. It's kinda nice, after all. Befitting for a guy who lives in a penthouse suite decorated like a damn opera auditorium atop one of Hell's classiest condos. Or whatever the fuck this building is.

Sweeping crushed red velvet curtains shade the circular room from the outside world roaring with screams. The chandelier hanging from the ceiling hums a rich, amber glow, causing everything it touches to shimmer. From the jukebox flashing like a slot machine stutters music from the early to mid twentieth century.

_..One mo̴̻̔͊r̷̟̪͒e t-tomorrow…To see he̷a̵v̴en in your eyes, to have your hand c-cling to mine, and wander through p-p-paradise...One more tomor̵r̷o̸w̸.. _

"Care for a dance?" Alastor lifts your hand up. "Or do you charge for that, as well?"

So sassy. You smirk as he curls his fingers around your waist while he pulls you in closer. "Depends on how much you want to fork out."

"My dear! Surely you know that my pockets are as deep as my sins."

Hmph. Well, shit. He really is growing on you. As you drape an arm over his shoulder, you purr, "Consider this one on the house. I like dancing."

Alastor chuckles, body swaying with the lazy melody of the music as he strokes your hip. "Perhaps the plot twist in our scene together is that you have taken a liking to me."

You snort. "Not really."

Smacking the back of his freehand against his forehead, Alastor belts out a static riddled gasp. "Darling, please! The bitter drama behind your voice is utterly devastating to my fragile heart!"

"Oops," You snicker. "Kinda figured you didn't have one of those."

"A natural assumption! However, tonight I find that I do," The sharp tip of Alastor's finger grazing your jawline drops a pool of warmth to your stomach. "Do take good care of such a treasure. They are quite difficult to procure on the black market, even among us sophisticates."

Oh. He's cute.

His hair is soft like silk as you thread your fingers through it. Alastor's chest rumbles with white noise in response. Mmm..Whispering smooth like bourbon while you wet your lips, you purr, "Wanna try another dance?"

A mile wide grin consumes his face. "Why, my dear. I was beginning to think you'd never ask."

Your eyelids droop, fluttering closed as his lips meld to yours. Alastor tastes like thunder in a shot glass with a splash of black licorice. Fuck, this is so damn nice. Come to think of it, you don't think you've been with any of Hell's upper crust before. Just back alley drug lords or the occasional husband whose wife stopped putting out.

So yeah, this is nice. Guess you're glad you chose to slip him that cigarette instead of telling him to fuck off.

He's a slow kisser. The kind that breathes your exhale and sucks on your bottom lip. Curiously tender, but demanding as he threads his hands through your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back to grant him further access. A shiver of desire bolts through you as he slips his tongue in to twirl with yours. Snaking your arms around his neck, you pull your body into his, causing him to vibrate with a muted chuckle.

So what? He's cute and he knows he's cute. Say what you will about the money, but you want to fuck this demon.

Wrapping a moan around his tongue, you tug on him once more. _Bed_, you want to growl. Now. The sharp tips of his fingers graze your scalp while he moans back, dipping his head into a nod as he walks you towards the bed, all while keeping his lips fused to yours.

The bed gives way to a soft creak as you fall into the sheets with him. Limbs rearrange accordingly, and it's not long until you're both on your sides, legs intertwined, lips still locked as your tongues get further acquainted. Sparks ignite like tiny fireworks of pleasure wherever he touches you. Along your bicep. _Mmm. _Fingertips mapping your curves. _Yes. _Languidly rocking with him as the swell of his erection grinds against the heat between your thighs. _Fuck yes. _

This jacket of his needs to come off _now_. With a last flick of your tongue against his, you break the kiss, leaving you both to pant and gasp for air. Everything you want hangs in your eyes as you send him a look. You know the one. The one that has his lips peeled back with a Cheshire grin as he disrobes.

The base of your spine tickles with anticipation. He's lithe, with lean muscle. Pale, like white charcoal that's been taken over and kissed by dark ash. It compliments all of his reds and blacks really damn nicely. You bite your lip. Fuck, you want him all over you in the worst way. This dress has gotta go. It's in the goddamn way.

Inch by inch Alastor's pointed, red fingertips glide along your body as you remove your dress and toss it to the side. _Bye_. His eyes flash, blinking like the shutter speed of a camera cataloguing while he drinks you in. "I wonder," Alastor fits a talon into your navel and gives a soft tug. "What other parts of you taste like Heaven?"

Mmm. You drape a leg over his shoulder as you purr, "Come and find out."

"My dear! How kind of you to offer," Alastor bows his head down to everything that you have to give, pretty pink and glistening, "Don't mind if I do."

You bite back a moan as he swipes his tongue along your slick slit. Breathing a wash of warm air over you, he then twists his tongue along your shyly hooded clit, drool dribbling down your slightly parted lips while he has his taste of you. Fuuuck. Fuck! Ah! Damn it, he definitely knows what he's doing. You arch your back, earning you his lips fastened to you as he gifts you with a particularly sharp suck.

Your limbs seize up for a second, and everything grows impossibly tight as you keen around an exhale. "Fuck!"

"In a moment, darling," Alastor chuckles. "I am not done with you as of yet."

You laugh. Red settles itself into your cheeks as you flush. W-Wow. He's good in the sack so far and he's funny. Definitely the best catch you've had since you crash landed here in Hell.

Alastor slows the pleasure he's giving you in favor of peppering kisses along your lips. You sigh, rubbing the top of his head, massaging a thumb along the edges of his horns. He rumbles with a static feedback at that. Mmm, he likes it. Cute.

Leaving your wet heat, he presses kisses up your stomach, suckling pink swells into shape as he draws supple skin into his mouth and nibbles. Smirking, you twirl a lock of his hair around a finger as you ask, "Not bad?"

"If I could, I would bottle up the paradise you drip and keep it for myself." Alastor purrs.

Your eyelids droop. "Didn't take you for the romantic type."

"Not many do, my dear. Not many do."

What a shame. You wonder, how many others has he been with? Better yet, what other faces does he wear? Never mind. Scratch that out of your mind, it's not your concern right now and shouldn't be again after tonight. Moving forward, you glance down to the suit pants that he's yet to remove. "I'd like to return the favor."

It feels like a phantom has kissed your neck as he breathes over the shell over your ear, "Perhaps another time. As of right now, I no longer care to deny myself the pleasure you're about to give me."

You don't have time to respond. This demon welds his lips to yours like he's going to actually cement himself to you. Tugging his pants down, he springs himself free, weeping with arousal while he slips up and down the seam of your slit. Ugh, fuck_ yes. _A shiver of desire punches you in the stomach. You want him to fuck you like he's got something to prove.

With the aid of his hand, he slips into you, groaning low with a moan that tickles your lips. Your nails bite into his shoulder blades as he spreads you wide. It's a snug fit as he presses further into you, and f-fuck, the friction is delicious. Rocking his hips in a steady rhythm, he works you open, only taking the time to rest once he has you flush to his root.

Everything is so warm and wet. But _nothing _is hotter than the obscene amount of heat pouring from between your thighs as you push away from Alastor's lips, moving to latch onto his neck. Alastor chuckles in response while you nip, lick, and suck at the wet flesh. "Eager! I rather like that in a partner."

You just want to test the waters. See what he likes, you know? Just in case. After all, who doesn't want to have more fun? While he picks up to stroking himself into you at an enjoyable pace, you swipe your tongue to the hollow of his throat. Smiling against the taut skin, you give him a lick before biting. Your heart flutters, because he laughs. He roars with a laugh like a dark god.

Your body yanks back like a gun being cocked as he takes in a fist full of your hair and pulls, "My dear! If you desired something less traditional, all you had to do was ask!"

"I want," You seethe as he begins to strike against the smooth curve of your cervix, "To fuck m-me."

Static. The very air distorts into blurred flecks as his voice creaks, "Da̷r̴l̷i̶n̶g. Oh̷,̷ ̸b̷u̴t̵ I ă̶̞̫͔͐͗m̶̗̹̜̞̈͐̓̕̚.̵̧̱̞̝͔̖̏͘."

Fuck_ yes_ he is. Gritting your teeth, you lock your legs around his waist, crossing your ankles over the small of his back as you drive him to plunge deeper inside you. With a growl, he does just that, and it shoots a white hot warning to that coiled pressure at the base of your spine that's just aching to be set free.

Everything about you, other than that frustration boiling within you, feels like the palpable static Alastor exudes at this moment. Nothing else matters other than the pleasure as you begin to grow numb around your frame. Tighter and tighter, you think you're going to detonate like a fuckin' nuke as Alastor's thrusting turns desperate, unkept, and careless.

The thought of his climax taking him doesn't push you over the edge, it shoves you off of that mother fucker. You're completely consumed. With a gasp and a kick of one of your ankles into his back, you hit your peak. _Hard. _Your release punches out of you, and the world cuts to white for a few seconds while you crackle like lightning with the pleasure flooding out of you.

The hand in your hair cinches tight, yanking your body back once more as the tell tale twitch of a male orgasm rushing into you coats that wet, tight heat that you've enveloped Alastor in. You don't know what the sound he's making is. It's caught between a moan, laugh, and something so infused with dark feedback that you can't quite make it out. Nevertheless, you lock your lips with his as he rides his high, thrusting slowly as he spreads himself through you.

It doesn't rain in Hell. But the piano trickling from Alastor's rickety jukebox is pretty damn close to rain in Hell. The soft melody yawning through his suite sets your head back into the sheets while he pants in the pocket between your neck and shoulder. With an arm around his head and fingers stroking the tips of his horns, you let yourself fall into the peace of the music.

_...One more t-t-tọ̷̢̰͔̩̥͠m̵̧̹̙̲̰̘̌̊͝orrow...to hold you in n-my embrace...and thrill-thrill-th̸r̷i̵l̶l with RaPtUrE..each time I look at y-your face̷̯̿̕... _

Looks like you're gonna get that nap you wanted, after all.

* * *

Darkness. That kinda darkness you only get when you close your eyes deep below the Earth's surface. Darkness has taken Alastor's room, because nothing does dark quite like Hell at midnight.

Darkness. Except for the damn near bio-luminescent red glow radiating from Alastor's eyes. "Be a dear and fetch me my coat?"

"Fuck off." Dumbass. Like hell you're moving an inch when you're glazed over like a donut after sex.

Alastor chuckles. "Not you, darling."

Edged with the red cast from Alastor's flickering eyes, a shadow creeps over the bed and retrieves Alastor's coat. Well, shit. Shrugging a shoulder and thankful as fuck that he can't see you're blushing, you ask, "Mind if I smoke?"

"What a stroke of genius!" Alastor exclaims. As he fits an arm through his sleeve, he snaps his fingers, red smoke summoning two clove cigarettes. Promptly, he lights them as he muses, "Right you are…Oh. Haha! Forgive me my dear, what was your name again?"

"Nice try," You accept the cigarette he's offering, plopping it into your mouth as you drag on a hit, "Not gonna work, though."

"We had a deal," Alastor tuts. "Quid pro quo."

"I'll tell you what. After sex like that, you can call me whatever the fuck you want."

"Really now?!" Alastor strikes a hand against his heart, tilting his head back with a laugh that could shake the damn building off of it's foundation. "Well! Considering my options, dare I say that a sobriquet like Clover would benefit you for a stage name."

You cough out a puff of smoke. "Clover? The fuck? Does your ass ever get jealous of all the shit you spew from your mouth?"

"Clover it is!" Alastor cackles as he sinks further into the bed. Begrudgingly, you follow his example, keeping yourself comfortable in the crook of his arm.

"Whatever." It's fuckin' corny. But...it's also endearing as hell. Mostly though, it's just fuckin' corny.

As his fingertips graze your bicep, he buzzes, "Remind me! What do I owe you?"

..Oh yeah. Hadn't thought about that, yet. Huh. You're not sure if it's the nicotine or fondness that's soaking your heart, but nevertheless, you pause. While the jukebox stutters with the same damn song that's been playin' this entire time, you exhale a ring of smoke. "Dinner. Tomorrow. I don't care where."

Alastor's teeth glint in the darkness as they carve his face open. "Good thing I know of an establishment on Twilight boulevard!"

You allow a gentle smile to sweep over you. "Yeah. Yeah, good thing."

* * *

・:* 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒𝓈 *:・

I hope you all enjoyed! This one shot is solely headcanon based off of how I perceive the setting and Alastor as a character.

Keep in mind that comments/reviews are the lifeblood at times of a Fan Fiction. Consider them like fuel for your dear authors! So, please be kind and drop a line. Whether it be my stories or others, make sure to give a little something. Even if it's just a 'Nice' or 'Loved it'. Those tokens of affection are worth a worlds weight of gold.

~Song in the story~

𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓇𝑜𝓌 - 𝐹𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓀𝒾𝑒 𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁𝑒


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